


homewreckers

by qrovers



Category: Mythic Quest: Raven's Banquet (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, can be interpreted as both romantic or platonic, david is Divorced, someone give him a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:01:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26392324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qrovers/pseuds/qrovers
Summary: David got sleepless nights and the house in the divorce.And he sold the house.
Relationships: Brad Bakshi & David Brittlesbee, Brad Bakshi/David Brittlesbee
Comments: 13
Kudos: 50





	homewreckers

**Author's Note:**

> hi it's 12 am n im tired n i have school tomorrow but also i accidentally wrote this in one sitting so  
> yeah 🕴
> 
> tw // alcohol

David likes late nights.

Whenever he drank too much coffee, he used to stare at the ceiling and listen to the cars passing by. He used to do that a lot during college, unwashed cups strewn around his desk as he looked out the windows of his dorm, trying to calm his nerves for a quiz he studied too much for. 

When he got married and moved to an L.A. suburban home, those late nights became scarce. He’d sleep before 8 p.m. by the time he’s 30, arms wrapped around the life he’d dreamed of since when he was a kid. It was nice. It was quiet. He was content. 

But he still missed those late nights. 

He got them back in the divorce. But he doesn't like them the way he used to, at least he doesn't think so. He’s forgotten what it felt like, if he's honest. To be carefree. To be alone. 

To be lonely. 

He realizes this, as he stares at the ceiling, it's paint almost peeling off. He realizes how foreign this feels. 

He closes his eyes to focus on the sound and learns that it's too quiet at night for it to be his college dorm. He puts his hands to his ears as if it’ll do anything, and breathes out a shaky sigh. 

He now hates late nights. 

#

The driving is the same as before. They only had one car, and his wife loved commuting. 

David turns on the radio as he backed up out of the garage. The sun pours in the windows and he squints.

He thinks,  _ I’m gonna die alone.  _ And he realizes he can't hear the song. He turns the dial and hears the volume gradually increase.

_ I’m gonna die alone _ .

He turns it more.

_ I’m gonna— _

“David?” He hears as he gets out the car in the office parking lot. He turns and see Ian, head cocked to the side, eyebrows raised up. “You okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn't I be okay?”

“I could feel the floor vibrate when you drove in.”

Oh. “Really?”

“Yeah. Do you have trouble hearing or something? You should get that checked out.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Okay?”

David nods. “Okay.”

Okay.

#

He uses his lunch break to search for a newer, smaller, closer apartment. 

Brad sees him scrolling. He hovers on his shoulder and looks at the webpage. 

“Brad,” is all David says, in acknowledgement.

“That neighborhood is shit, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

#

This neighborhood is, objectively, shit. 

Maybe David should've listened, but he doesn't regret it. 

It's too small to fit him and his wife’s bed, so he opts for a sofa-bed, despite his age. He places it in front of the TV, where he now spends his Friday nights watching reruns of shows he kinda cared about but lost interest in. 

The best part is the noise. 

It's a cacophony of buses unloading, sirens, and Mrs. Madison trying to calm her month-old baby. At night, when he can't get himself to sleep, he listens to it and is reminded of when he was able to cope. 

(He no longer needs coffee to stay awake.)

#

Poppy once asked him, “Are the car rides from home better now?”

And he said, “No. But they're shorter.”

#

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks, Brad.” David says, getting a mug from the office pantry and pouring black coffee in one move. He does this every morning. 

“No,” Brad shakes his head. He grabs David’s coffee and drinks from it without a care. He also does this every morning. “But, seriously. You look like you just rolled out of bed.”

David takes his mug back. He gives him a small smile. “What, are you worried about me or something?”

Brad makes a gagging sound. “Oh, god, no.”

#

It's been a month in this apartment. 

Late nights give mixed feelings now. 

Sometimes he's staring out his window, forehead to the glass, watching empty streets from the fifth floor. Sometimes he'd put on music, or a show, or just sit at the edge of his sofa-bed and listen to nothing. Nothing is noisy. 

(And he's okay with that.)

Other nights, like this night specifically, he finds himself in bed, involuntarily awake, looking for (at) the contact of his ex-wife. 

She probably changed her number. 

He still shouldn't try and call her. He shouldn't care about it. 

He still does, though. 

He can't say he doesn't miss her, even after she broke his heart, took the dog and their happy ending. She’s in Oregon now, engaged to some guy she met last year, meaty and bald and younger than him. Or so it says on her Facebook status. He hates that he knows that. 

This is a bad idea. 

So he does the second worst thing.

#

“David?” He can tell Brad’s trying hard to sound tired. “It's 4 am.”

“Why are you awake?” David asks, as if he wasn't the one calling. 

“Oh, I don't know. Maybe because my phone was ringing?”

A beat. They both know that's a lie. 

Quietly, “I was watching Ducktales.”

David giggles. “Cute.”

“Take that back,” Brad says. Then, “Why did you call me?”

“‘Cause you're not my ex-wife.”

“Oh—Okay?”

“Sorry. I didn't wanna call her—well, I kinda do but—Whatever. I just called you instead. Sorry.”

“No, really it's okay.” Brad pauses. “What’d you wanna do?”

#

It's 5 am on the same night. David learns his apartment is not built for two people. 

“Jesus, how broke are you?” Brad asks as he enters.

“Not broke. I just don't know what to do with so much space.”

“Put a pool in. Or a statue.”

“I guess I’m broke then?”

# 

He doesn't know how he got talked into doing this. 

It's 6 am on the same night. They stand in front of his old house. There's a  _ For Sale  _ sign on the lawn. 

“Why are we here?” David asks, but he already knows the answer. 

“You were bumming me out. I feel like you’re not letting yourself feel things.”

“Oh, I feel many things.” David laughs, almost hysterically. “I’m sad, like,  _ all the time. _ ”

“Exactly,” Brad clicks his fingers. “You're stopping yourself from feeling anything else.”

“Like what?”

“The  _ anger _ .”

#

He explains the plan, and David tries to follow, but his brain feels mushy and heavy so it takes three tries. But turns out he was hearing it right all three times. 

Brad's plan? Property damage. 

“No no no,” David grabs Brad’s jacket sleeve and tries to pull him back. “No, Brad. I can't pay to—”

“ _ I can. _ ” Brad says, voice not giving space for rebuttals. He pulls his sleeve away and grabs David’s (hand) wrist and pulls him towards the newly painted walls of his greatest heartbreak. 

(“You're so dramatic sometimes,” his wife used to tell him.)

The house is, by all means but physically, empty. But for some inexplicable reason, it doesn't feel as empty as it did when David left it. 

There’s furniture and plates in the cupboard put by the agents. It doesn't feel lived in but it still feels like they're breaking and entering. Maybe it's because the cabinets by the sink were painted mahogany because his wife told him it looked better. Maybe it's because there's a hole in the wall from when David couldn't choose where to hang their wedding photo. Maybe because the stairs look so tall now, and he knows if he goes up, he’ll find four empty bedrooms. 

There it is. There's the anger. 

#

“Yeah!” Brad claps as David grabs another glass and smashes it on the ground. 

Somewhere within the hour, he’s bought a six pack. Somewhere within the hour, the sun rose up. 

David’s not sleepy, though. He’s got tons of practice.

“Do you feel better?” Brad asks, sitting criss cross apple sauce on the floor. 

_ Maybe. _ “I don't know.”

“Do you still feel sad?”

_ Always.  _ “Maybe.” He sighs, “My arm’s getting tired actually. Can we take a pause?”

“Oh, yeah,” Brad says and he scoots over and pats the space next to him. He hands David a beer, and they sip at the same time. 

David leans on the wall, his thoughts lurching like waves. Too many to count, all trying to get him to focus at the same time. But he can't, so he doesn't. 

“What do you want in life?” David asks, a bit jumpy, as he’s looking up at the ceiling. He takes another sip.

“That's a pretty big question. You don't want small talk?”

“You just saw my raw anger unhinged. I think we're way past small talk.”

“I want—” Brad pauses, thinking. If he said money, David wouldn't bat an eye, but he doesn't. Instead he says, “I want to be wanted.”

David furrows his eyebrows.

Lightly, like he’s trying not to sound so serious as he bares his soul, Brad chuckles. “Like, in MQ, for example—”

“You're wanted in MQ.”

Brad shakes his head. “I’m  _ needed _ in MQ. There's a difference. If I was useless, I’d be fired. There's no one to fight for me.”

David opens his mouth to say something, but Brad cuts him off before he could get a word out. 

“Don't even say you would. You don't have to lie, I’m not a child.” He points at him with the base of his bottle. 

“That wasn't what I was gonna say.”

“What were you gonna say?”

“I wanted you here.”

Brad stares and pauses, before trying to change the topic. “Do you want children?”

It works. “Always did. Maybe a boy and girl, but it doesn't really matter. I just—I just love kids, you know?”

Brad nods, though it doesn't seem to be in agreement. 

David, drunk and sleep-deprived, says, “You know, we should adopt a kid.”

Brad agrees immediately. “Yeah, I already got a trust fund.”

David closes his eyes and laughs. It's hearty, bubbling bright from his stomach. His chest aches but in a good way, like it's trying to stretch unused muscles. He puts a hand over his mouth and just lets himself giggle beside Brad, even when his cheeks start hurting. It isn't even that funny, but it doesn't matter. He hasn't laughed this hard in months. 

He looks over at Brad, holds his gaze for just a moment. Nice. Quiet. Content. 

(Carefree.)

He inhales. This feels like a lead up to something, but he's too drunk to tell.

Brad stares at him, just for a second, before shattering the illusion with an exaggerated cough. “We should get you back home. You look like you need sleep.”

He stands up and gets his phone from his pocket, probably calling an Uber. He turns his back from him. 

David hums. “No, I’m fine.”

“Yeah, whatever, but  _ I _ need some sleep.” He looks back and smiles. “This was fun.”

David smiles back. 

#

The car ride back is long and silent. 

But David's okay, he realizes. 

He’ll be okay. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> ty for reading!! follow me on twitter @/trobedcore


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